If Only
by kirakoff
Summary: <html><head></head>They gazed at each other, a million words and thoughts and feeling dancing between them, before Nathaniel suddenly stormed forward and kissed Anders. It was brief and sweet and tantalizing and it made Anders shake, but then Nathaniel was gone. !Slash!</html>


Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Age in any way, shape or form. It all belongs to Bioware and EA.

Author's Notes: Okay, I haven't written in a while, so I don't really know if this is all in character and decent and stuff. Anders, man, you've become so hard to write.

Beta: The ever awesome JM Selleck.

* * *

><p>"Ahem."<p>

He had been dozing, sitting in the small corner where he kept his bed, when he heard the rough cough and the sound of boots scraping across a dirty, straw covered floor. The door to Anders' tiny clinic was usually left open at night, an open invitation for the sick, or the weary, but he had thought he had closed it upon returning home. He had needed some time to himself; some time to try and _think_, but that had proved impossible. It was always impossible, these days. Justice – Vengeance – tinted and tapped at his every thought, and it drove him to distraction.

"Anders? Are you in?"

He pushed himself up, brushing off the flecks of dried mud and grit that had been stuck to his coat. He needed to change, get it laundered, get the blood of Darkspawn and Templars and Bandits and _Mages_ off it. Maker, he was covered in the blood of the very people he was going to give everything up to save, people who had turned to blood magic and demons, and if only he had tried harder, he could have saved them, given them hope, a _chance_, give them _justice_-

"Anders!"

He started. A headache was starting to form behind his eyes, and as he turned to look at his visitor he wondered if he could be bothered braving the dangers of Darktown at night to gather some elfroot. Their little stint into the Deep Roads to look for Nathanial had left him empty. He only had Deep Mushroom left and _that_ wouldn't do anything for his headache.

"Maker, Anders, have you lost your mind in the years since I've seen you?"

"Huh?" He blinked. The smell of rot and manure and medicine was strong tonight, the light of the clinic weak and flickering, and it took him a moment to realize that it was Nathanial that stood in his doorway, eyebrow raised and his hands on his hips.

A vague remembrance of those months trekking across Amaranthine came to mind, and he thought of the various frowns and annoyed looks Nathaniel had shot him during that time. He could remember the man standing at the campfire, looking for the entire world like an angry fishwife. It was a joke that had always gone over Justice's head, while the Warden Commander had smiled into his hand and prodded the flames with the edge of an arrow. Maker, it felt like that had been a lifetime ago to Anders; something that had happened to someone else.

He wasn't the Anders he had been back then, but he found himself thinking that Nathaniel appeared to be the same Nathaniel at least, the lucky bastard.

"I didn't know you knew where my clinic was." Anders tried to smile, but he was too tired. Exhaustion niggled at him and he had a horrible feeling this encounter was going to make things worse.

"Carver told me. He… requested time to go and see a woman. We leave in the morning." Nathaniel explained, stepping into the hovel. He looked around, seeing the stretchers, the filth, the body of a little girl Anders hadn't been able to save a few hours earlier, much to the mother's dismay. He pursed his lips and scuffed his boots, and sat down on a crate.

"I didn't know Carver _had_ a woman." It was a slightly disturbing thought.

"I didn't think to ask." Nathaniel shrugged, eying the painted walls. The pictures of the slaves wailing in horror are half shadowed and flickering, a silent reminder of what this place was. Is. Justice shifts in the back of Anders' mind. "I wanted to give him a chance to rest and see his brother. He's been in Amaranthine for quite a time, now. Being so far from family is… tiring, I find."

"Ah." Anders didn't really know what to say to that. He hadn't had a family for years, and, really, he had found that being in the Wardens, at least while the Commander was still in charge, had been soothing. He hadn't had to fear and run and worry, and the ever-present threat of those wretched Templars had faded with the days. He had been happy, for a time. If the Commander hadn't have left, he doesn't think he would have.

"Yes. Well." Nathaniel shifted a bit, trying to get comfortable. Anders wondered if he should invite him to sit on one of the stretchers, but they were covered in lice and dried blood and were not all appealing.

"Can I. Uh. Get you anything?" Anders really didn't understand what was happening here, but he figured he should try and be a gracious host. "I have water… and maybe some bread around here. Somewhere."

He smiled at Nathaniel, and shrugged. "I need to go shopping."

Nathaniel nodded. "No need, Anders, I'm fine. Delilah made sure to try and stuff me to the point of bursting upon my return." A smile flickered at the corners of Nathaniel's mouth at the memory, and Anders belly grew tight.

"I came because I've… got something for you. Someone." Nathaniel continued, digging into his pocket. Anders slumped in relief. He wasn't there to talk about what Anders thought he was going to talk about, as that was something he'd refused to think of since it happened.

Nathaniel drew a small leather pouch from his pocket, which had a tiny, intricate _P _stitched on it in silver thread. He handed it to Anders, who took it, a confused look on his face. He started when his fingers brushed against Nathaniel's, but he didn't think the other man had noticed.

"Um." Anders turned the little pouch over in his hand. The leather was strong and fine, the stitching on the lettering delicate. The pouch had been sewn shut, he noticed, almost forming a little pillow. There was something inside it, though. Dirt? He wondered if Amaranthine was known for having a magical sand of some sort.

"It's… I've been carrying him with me for a while, now." Nathaniel told him, scratching at his neck. "It's Ser Pounce-a-lot."

"It's… oh. _Oh_." Anders felt his shoulders slump as he stared at the little pouch. "His ashes?"

"Yes. The woman you gave him to contacted me when he passed. She didn't know what to do. I… took the body, had it cremated. I've never really known why. I didn't think I would see you again. He's been with me for over a year, now. I imagine he's what kept me alive while I was in the Deep Roads. He was an… extraordinary cat," Nathaniel babbled.

"You… I don't know if that's creepy or sort of… sweet." Anders replied. He rubbed a thumb over the leather, sadness creeping up on him. Oh, poor Ser Pounce-a-lot. Tears prickled at the corner of his eyes, but he blinked them away. "Thank you, Nathaniel. This is… this is a comfort. He is. I won't lie and say I haven't missed him."

"He missed you, too." Nathaniel murmured. Anders bit his lip. He didn't think Nathaniel was solely talking about the cat. But that was in the past, hidden away in the corner of his heart where he kept the happy memories of a better time locked up, hidden from Justice. Hidden from himself.

An awkward silence settled over the two, and Anders found himself gazing at the remains of his cat while Nathaniel stared at his shoes. Anders didn't really know what else to say, the silence making him uncomfortable.

"Anders."

He looked up. Nathaniel was still looking at his boots, his eyes focused and his neck stiff. "I. Admittedly. Uh. I came… for another reason. I was hoping to talk to you – about… what you said to me before you left. I-"

"Nathaniel." Anders stopped him. Stopped himself. He wanted so badly to say so many things, but he couldn't. Nathaniel wouldn't understand, no more than Hawke would. No more than he himself could.

"I know… I remember. What we did together, that night." Anders admitted. "I will always treasure the memory, but you know I can't return. You know how I've… changed."

Nathaniel frowned. "I know that Justice is inside you, Anders. I know that was something that I resented at first, but… Maker, Anders, I-"

"Nathaniel. Stop. Please. No matter what you say, or what you do, we can't talk of this. It's in the past. We allowed ourselves that single night because we knew what was going to happen, and that's all it is. Was. Will ever be. A single night." It hurt to say so.

"For Andraste's sake, Anders!" Suddenly Nathaniel stood, his face set in determination. "It doesn't have to be! I didn't stop you then because I was an idiot, but I know now. I've spent the last nine years thinking about it. I don't care if there is another being inside you! Not anymore. You don't have to stay here in this… _sty_. Come back to Amaranthine with me. The Maker has given me this chance by placing you on my path again."

Anders shook his head. Nathaniel didn't understand. And he never would, really. The Anders who had held him and teased him and annoyed him had faded into nothingness years ago. The one that stood before him wasn't who he wanted, or who he needed. If only he could explain, but he couldn't. He didn't really understand it himself.

"I'm sorry, Nathaniel. I can't. Please, leave it be. Thank you for returning Ser Pounce-a-lot to me." His heart ached. "But I need you to leave. Please."

Nathaniel stared at him for a moment, his eyes searching for something that wasn't there. And then they flickered shut, and when they opened it was though Nathaniel had washed it all away.

"I… understand. I'll go. It was wonderful to see you again, Anders. I'm glad you're well." The words sounded heavy - _lost_.

Anders nodded. "You too. Thank you, Nathaniel."

They gazed at each other, a million words and thoughts and feeling dancing between them, before Nathaniel suddenly stormed forward and kissed Anders, hard. It was brief and sweet and tantalizing and it made Anders shake, but then Nathaniel was walking out the door and disappearing into the shadows of Darktown.

Anders felt his knees give out and hit the ground. He felt ill, woozy, and he clenched his eyes shut as he thought of what he had given up.

What he was going to give up.

"Damn the Chantry. Damn Meredith, damn the Templars!" He hissed, doubling over, clutching the pouch to his forehead. If only… Maker, if only…

His throat burned and he swallowed hard, feeling Justice twitch and quake inside him. So many mistakes… if only.

"Damn _me_."


End file.
